


Survival Is Insufficient

by t_fic (topaz), topaz, topaz119 (topaz)



Series: survival is insufficient [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 02, Resolved Sexual Tension, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 00:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20573420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/t_fic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz119
Summary: In a lot of ways, Chris isn't surprised at all to get the message--a couple of coordinates and a stardate a month after the first anniversary ofDiscovery's crossing--even if he hasn't exchanged a word with Tyler since they'd walked away from each other outside of Starfleet.





	Survival Is Insufficient

**Author's Note:**

> So, there I was, happily streaming S2 b/c I know you know I love me some Captain Pike, and then there was this argument in a shuttle and the next thing I know there's a private meeting with booze and Pike unbuttoning the collar of his uniform and my brain said, _oh, really?! look at that!_ and here we are, nearly 10K of PWP w/feelings later. 
> 
> Spoilers for all of the second season of Discovery + I was recklessly borrowing from Pike's appearances on TOS. (This is allllll Anson Mount, though.)

In a lot of ways, Chris isn't surprised at all to get the message--a couple of coordinates and a stardate a month after the first anniversary of _Discovery_'s crossing--even if he hasn't exchanged a word with Tyler since they'd walked away from each other outside of Starfleet. The hearings had concluded and they each had their all-consuming missions to continue; nothing in their situation had warranted much beyond a handshake. 

At least, it hadn’t on the surface.

If pressed, Chris might acknowledge that there had been more he could have said; and if it's late into a double, emergency shift when he's both exhausted and wired on adrenaline, he could possibly even admit that he'd thought he caught a glimmer of the same thing in Tyler's eyes. It's only in the deepest part of the night, when he's alone and sleepless with visions of his future battering at his psyche, that he'll follow that thought through to how much he wants those possibilities to be true. 

He really isn't surprised that the message arrives as the _Enterprise_ is looping back in close to Vulcan for a spot of maintenance for the rebuilt hull and the warp core. It's not as if Tyler doesn't have access to their position.

He's still a little bemused that it arrives through personal channels. This isn't, he judges, a request from the head of Section 31 to the captain of the _Enterprise_. It's an invitation for Chris Pike to join Ash Tyler on--he holds the thought until he looks up the coordinates--one of the newly rebuilt starbases. 

Chris thinks he probably should be more surprised at how he doesn't think twice about accepting the invitation, but… He's trying like hell not to lie to himself these days, to make every day he has count. Yes, he and Tyler have had a complicated relationship and he still doesn't entirely approve of Section 31 and its methods. After the events with _Discovery_ and Control, though, he can't do anything but count the man as a friend. 

"Number One," Chris says, opening a private channel to her from the chair. "I'll be taking personal leave while we're down for the overhaul, comming you the dates."

"Of course, Captain," she answers, as though it hasn't been over a year since Chris has taken more than a random day of leave. Chris has worked with the blasted woman for long enough to hear the implied _finally_ in her voice, but he supposes he deserves it. 

He cuts off with a hasty, "Pike, out," disconnecting before she can offer any more blatant editorializing on how he's been running his life recently. For better or worse, the normal routines of Alpha shift on the bridge smooth out at least a few of the questions Tyler's message had raised, but Chris knows in his gut that this isn’t going to be a simple meeting. 

And, in the continuing spirit of self-awareness, even if he's thought about more between them, he's not a young idiot now. He can manage any issues that might arise, including those with his own emotional maturity.

* * *

His subconscious blithely ignores the message, though. As the days count down to his leave, his dreams become more and more explicit. Even the mornings that he doesn’t remember every second in excruciating detail, Chris is waking up with waves of desire flooding his system. He takes to reminding himself of the various disagreements he and Tyler have had, including the one where he'd threatened to have Tyler up on charges for insubordination. 

There's also the one where he'd had Tyler confined to quarters, but he still stands behind that decision as one necessary for the safety of his crew. The argument in the shuttle had been all on him and Chris does need to remember how fine a line he'd walked on abusing his authority in order to make himself feel better _and_ how Tyler had known exactly what he was doing. It's never going to be one of his shining moments and it's hardly something that would recommend him to anyone seeking a deeper relationship. 

He makes a point of not glossing over any of their interactions, every night before he dims the lights and tries for an easy, calm sleep.

None of it really helps, so Chris tells himself he’s just going to have to keep a lid on it all the old-fashioned way: through a sheer, stubborn refusal to act as though there's anything going on but a meeting between former colleagues. He's got the stubborn part down cold, he's always been told, so the rest should follow along naturally.

* * *

The starbase had been hit pretty hard during the war, but recovery efforts are well underway. Chris had his pick of accommodations, and since Tyler hadn't gotten any more specific than the starbase itself, had gone ahead and chosen one of the newly rebuilt hotels, one relatively far away from the casino district that serves as the base's de facto shore leave offering. He isn't in the mood for that particular level of energy; if Tyler objects, well, he's free to find his own way, which Chris knows he's more than capable of putting into effect.

The journey out is smooth and uncomplicated. Chris deliberately wears civvies and keeps to himself on the various cruisers and shuttles, so he arrives in a somewhat introspective mood. In the last few years, he's felt the weight of the uniform more and more. It's who he is, who he's wanted to be all his life, everything he's worked for, but making his way through the world as just Chris is something he's come to value. 

The hotel is smaller than he'd expected--more an inn than an oversized resort--but the gardens around it are lush and filled with well-tended-to plantings and water features, almost a balm to his eyes after so long in the black. Growing up in the high desert like he did, he doesn't miss the green of a jungle or wooded areas, but it's been a long time since he's been anywhere but the ship. Plus, he's always curious, and when he mentions looking forward to seeing some of the more interesting species native to the quadrant, the concierge who is greeting him immediately offers a tour with the gardening specialists.

"Tomorrow?" Chris says. "It's been a long trip, and I hate to tell you what I might do for food that hasn't been sitting on a cruiser for a standard year."

"Of course, of course, sir. Any preferences or specifications?"

"Someplace with non-replicator food, doesn't matter what, so long as it works for humans," Chris is saying with his best practiced smile, the one he uses when what he's asking for is important but ultimately not world-ending, when the corridor door slides open and Ash Tyler walks into the reception area. His eyes are focused, intent, and arrow straight to Chris. "And privacy," Chris adds, tearing his eyes away from Tyler's and focusing back on the concierge. "Please."

He hears the assurances that everything will be taken care of even as the lion's share of his attention is focused squarely on Tyler as he crosses the lobby to join Chris. He's in civilian clothes, too, though they're all black and not that different from the Section 31 uniform. His hair is a little longer; his beard a bit shorter. To Chris' eye, he looks as though he's lost weight--not a lot, but enough to draw attention to his height and the length of his legs.

Or maybe that's just Chris.

"Mr. Tyler," Chris says as Tyler takes the last few steps, "Imagine seeing you here, out of all the places to stay on this base."

Tyler shrugs minutely, a small, smooth ripple of muscles that emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders. 

(It definitely is Chris; he can acknowledge that much at least.) 

"What's the use of having a spy network if you can't find out the things you want to know?" His eyes are amused, but that's as far as it goes until Chris can't help responding with a huff of laughter and he relaxes into small quirk of a smile. "Besides, if you didn't want me looking, you could have messaged me directly."

That's true enough, Chris acknowledges, and phrased with far less irritation than Chris' ridiculous passive-aggressive action deserves. 

"Well, where's the fun in actual communication?" Chris says, holding out his hand as much in apology as greeting. Tyler meets him directly, no hesitation, his grip strong and his expression almost unguarded. Chris probably should apologize for the run-around, but the concierge catches his eye and asks for his okay on a reservation. Chris tips the PADD so Tyler can read it, too, and when he nods, taps the screen to accept it.

The restaurant is apparently close by; when Tyler (who has unsurprisingly surveyed the area) suggests they make their own way there, Chris accepts gratefully. He's spent far too many hours cooped up in one means of transportation or another. A quick, brisk walk not only lets him stretch out his muscles, but also helps clear his head. 

Plus, walking side-by-side makes for at least a half-assed transition into sitting across a table from the man he's here to see, and Chris has a feeling he's going to need every advantage he can get as the night goes along.

Dinner turns out to be strange, but not in any way Chris might have expected. They're seated in a private alcove, as requested, and the food is fresh and spiced and not anything Chris has tried before. It's all fine, except that Tyler is quiet and--Chris would stake his captain's bars on it, no matter how odd the thought--uncertain from the moment they leave the hotel. And, instead of just allowing the silence to draw out--which Chris is entirely capable of doing and which he would have thought to be a solid plan of action given that he's here at Tyler's invitation and for reasons that have yet to be--there's that word again--communicated--Chris finds himself carrying the conversation. It's not hard, not with all the random bits and pieces from the last few months, the odd half-screw-ups that make life on a Federation starship considerably less glamorous than everyone imagines, but it's somewhat disconcerting how gratifying he's finding it when Tyler gradually relaxes enough to add a few dry comments of his own.

The thing is, Chris has never really expected a normal life. Before the war, he'd thought about what he might do after he'd retired from Starfleet, but only in a detached, theoretical way. Then he'd found Vina on Talos IV and the prospect of a normal life had suddenly been thrown into sharp relief, one that had shattered quickly but left its shadows burned into his subconscious. In this last year, he's noticed having the kind of idle daydreams of, well, not so much a home, but a sense of belonging, of there being somewhere that he's simply Chris, not the Captain. It's uncomfortably close to how he's feeling once things relax at this dinner, and he needs to remember why he's here and how that has nothing to do with his little domestic head trip.

"But none of this is news to you," Chris says as the staff clears the table and starts setting out decanters and tiny glasses of various liquors to finish off the meal, "what with your spies and all."

"I only get access to the official reports," Tyler says, faintly protesting. "Nobody tells us about space slime or the, uh, fluffy things." He chooses one of the liquors, with possibly a bit too much attention on the array of decanters. "None of your people talk, you know."

It's Chris' turn to shrug. "I'm not universally beloved--it's not my job, or my aspiration. I've pissed plenty of people off over the years and I assume I'll keep doing it in the future. Someone will say something at some point."

"Ah," Tyler says, his eyes flicking up once to meet Chris', but then returning to the small glass he's holding and turning in his hands. "But those are easy to discount for the resentment they're broadcasting."

They've gone back to the awkward atmosphere, but this time Chris addresses it head-on. "You didn't call me out here to hear about the day-to-day shenanigans on my ship."

"Maybe I did," Tyler says. "Maybe I--missed it. The day-to-day stuff."

Chris stays silent, and after a long minute, Tyler sighs. "I do," he says. "Miss it." He looks up and meets Chris' eyes with a steady, calm look. "You run a good ship."

"I had--have--a good crew," Chris answers automatically--and truthfully. There's a lot a captain can do to set a good environment, but they can't counteract everything. Good crews will out, at least for a while under even the worst captains. _Discovery_ is proof enough of that. Compliments to his leadership aren't why they're here, though, so he goes quiet again, and again, the silence stretches out.

"I know there's nothing official," Tyler says, his voice low and rough, "but have you heard anything--" 

"The seventh signal," Chris answers before he even finishes the ask. The timing of this meeting had never been coincidental and Chris isn't surprised it's the reason they're sitting at this table. "You saw it, too." Tyler nods. "Nothing more." 

That's all Chris means to say, but then as the finality of it all sits between them, he hears himself adding, "On the days I can't convince myself that we were right to erase them from the record like we did, I'm not even sure where to look."

"It was the right call." 

"It was. Doesn't mean it was the easy one." Chris _is_ talking about the official story of _Discovery_ here, but that doesn't mean he isn't thinking about a lot of other decisions he's made over the years, the last few especially. He puts all of them, Vina and _Discovery_ and the future set in motion by the time crystal, out of his mind and focuses back on the man across the table. 

"It's… not the same without them," Tyler says.

"Them?" It's really none of Chris' business, but he can't help the question.

"Her," Tyler answers. "Michael, of course." He takes a long, slow breath, the kind Chris knows you take when there's nothing to do but keep going. "But them, all of them, too." 

Chris deliberately lets _Discovery_ and her team into his mind: Detmer and Owo, solid and steady at the forward console; Burnham and Tilly and Saru and their formidable bulwark of science and heart; Reno's dryly blunt reports from Engineering; Stamets and the thrill of a Black Alert. He breathes a long, slow breath of his own.

"No. It's not the same at all."

"I made the decision to stay," Tyler says. "I'd make it again--it was the right call, too." He looks faintly surprised as Chris nods, short and sharp in agreement, but Chris has seen enough of the changes put in place in Section 31, the oversights and fail-safes that Tyler has pushed through to make it so Control never happens again to know that it _was_ the right call, one that very well might save more people than either of them can imagine, and he's not ever going to pretend it doesn't matter. "I'm good with it—but there are times when I just--want to be with someone who knows it all."

"I'm honored to be that person," Chris says, meaning every word. Asking for support isn't something that's encouraged in Starfleet; Chris can only imagine how much less sanctioned it is in the Klingon culture that Tyler still carries with him. Chris isn't entirely sure he's worthy of the layers of trust that have just been opened up to him--he's not always been Tyler's greatest supporter--but he knows himself well enough to know that he's not going to drop the ball without trying his damnedest. 

Chris reaches out and takes another of the glasses.

"To _Discovery_," Chris says, low and quiet. "To the Red Angels, mother and daughter, and the crew who refused to allow them to carry the burden of the future alone."

He holds Tyler's eyes long enough to be sure he knows Chris counts him among those carrying that burden, and then lifts his glass in salute.

Tyler tosses back the contents of his glass in a single swallow and the shadow of a grimace crosses his face. Chris makes a note to avoid whatever that was in the glass and purposefully downs his own glass in three prudent drinks. 

It still leaves his eyes crossing and his throat on fire, but at least he doesn't choke. Chris might not be as young (and stupid) as he used to be, but he still has his pride. When he catches his breath again, he eyes the remaining shots and sighs. "How insulting would it be to ask around for something Earth-based?" he asks, mostly rhetorically, because he already knows the answer and it's not going to make him happy.

"I, uh, might have a bottle of what my source assures me is 'Tennessee's finest' back at my room," Tyler says, an almost-smile quirking half of his mouth at whatever he's seeing on Chris' face. Chris can only hope it's not that his brain has presented him with the memory of another bottle of whiskey, one in the ready room on the _Discovery_, one shared with the intent of opening the lines of communication between Chris and the enigma of a Section 31 agent he'd been saddled with, one that anchors a completely inappropriate desire that Chris has yet to shake even if he has managed not to act on it.

"I figured that I could probably bribe you to stick around with a glass or two and get--whatever it is I thought I needed that way." Tyler glances around bemusedly at the remains of their dinner and the private, comfortable alcove, which Chris will admit is not at all how he thought this first meeting would go either. "But now--it seems a shame not to try it out even if it's not necessary."

"The night is young," Chris manages to say lightly. He may not get what he wants, but that's not a reason to turn down an offer made in good faith or to roll back the advances already made. "Or, really, I have no idea what time I'm actually working on, so I'd have to say 'Lead on, MacDuff.'" Tyler frowns and Chris sighs. "Yes, I know the quote is actually 'lay on,' and it means to start a fight to the death, but the thought of actual Tennessee whiskey is erasing what small amount I do actually care about Shakespeare and accuracy in quotations."

Chris is more emphatic than he probably needs to be, but it circles back to laying aside the Captain and just being Chris. Plus, it's probably been too long since he's slept and whatever had been in that glass apparently had untold, ongoing effects.

"Leading on," Tyler says, another one of those barely there smiles in his eyes. They have a bit of a wrangle about payment, but Chris actually can summon the command voice at will these days and the credit dock the server is holding ends up in front of him without further ado. Tyler glowers about it, but that's fine. Chris has held out through far more turbulent emotional reactions. 

* * *

The walk back to the hotel is infinitely less strained than earlier, and Chris finds his pace slowing step by step. On a ship, he's always _on_, always on his way somewhere or late off his shifts and trying to salvage a few minutes of private time. He wouldn't have it any other way, but he needs to remember that he can't do it non-stop and that Starfleet has recommended leave standards for a reason.

In the spirit of that (woefully simple and belated) realization, Chris tips his head toward the gardens in the central courtyard as they arrive back at the hotel. The night lighting package is fading in as the starbase's rotational spin takes them into a deepening twilight; it's not the wild nature he loves, but it's a start. 

Tyler nods and follows Chris out into the courtyard. They cross paths with two other groups of guests, one set human, the other not, but it's easy to turn randomly down the paths and feel as though they're the only beings there. Even better, the quiet and illusion of privacy aren't triggering more waves of awkwardness. The two of them wander for far longer than Chris would have anticipated. 

They've reached the far corner of the courtyard and started back across when Tyler breaks the quiet. "What I said at dinner--that's not the only reason I got in contact with you."

Chris starts to quip something about spies and ulterior motives, but Tyler is serious, the way he'd been when they'd finally talked about _Discovery_ and her crew and that's not something Chris takes lightly.

"What is it, then?" Chris asks instead.

"What I said earlier, about staying being the right decision--I don't really think about it a lot." Tyler rakes a hand back through this hair. "I'm here."

"Life goes on," Chris offers.

"Yeah," Tyler says on a long exhale. "I guess it does." The light from a diode tucked in behind a falling spout of water sends reflections dancing across his face, but does nothing to help Chris get a read on him. "The thing is…"

Chris lets this silence play out again, but it's been a long few days and he still doesn't know why he's here. He only has so much patience.

"Mr. Tyler," he says, falling back on the tried-and-true rhythms of a commanding officer. "Spit it out. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it."

"The thing is," Tyler repeats, reacting to the goad, "I'm tired of it doing that. Going on, like I'm just along for the ride. I've done good things with 31 and I can keep doing that, but there's more to life than that, too."

Chris knows that feeling; he's fought with the knowledge Tyler's own son had given him about his life, spent months resisting the temptation to let that current sweep him to its end. "What more do you want?"

"You," Tyler says, low and direct, the word hanging between them like the lingering tone of a bell that's been rung. 

Out of habit born of long days on the bridge, Chris slaps down the spike of adrenaline that comes howling out at the word and deliberately breathes in, slow and controlled. Tyler shrugs, a tight, almost helpless motion, as though he isn't expecting anything good to come of the words, but can't not say them. 

"How so?" Chris asks, his own voice, in turn, as quiet and direct as he can make it. He is taking this one-hundred percent seriously and he wants Tyler to know it.

"Whatever you'll give me," Tyler says, his voice so quiet it's barely audible. Chris spares a thought at how much grit it has to be taking take just to have started this conversation, but then he's infuriated at the universe for the complicated bitch that she is; furious about the arrogance that led to Control and about futures written in crystals, about Vina and the loss of _Discovery_ and how the right thing never seems to be the easy thing, and he loses another bit of his control.

"What do you _want_?" Chris snaps. It comes out too sharp and demanding, but he's only barely holding on against a deep, primitive need to show exactly what he wants to give to Tyler. Tyler doesn't flinch, though, only lets Chris' anger and frustration roll over him, and Chris manages to temper his next words.

"Not what you'll settle for," Chris says. "What you want." When Tyler doesn't--can't--answer, Chris takes a half-step toward him, forcing himself to reach out slowly, so he'll be easy to sidestep. Tyler watches him the whole way, as still as if he'd been turned to stone, until Chris can wrap his hand around Tyler's biceps. "Please," Chris breathes, moving his thumb in a light, stroking caress that he hadn't planned on, but is probably going to have a hard time stopping. "I--need to hear it.

"Everything," Tyler finally says, his eyes still fixed on where Chris is touching him. "I know that's not something you can just --"

"Ash," Chris interrupts, and Ash jumps at the word, jerking his head so he's looking at Chris instead of where Chris is still caressing his arm, and it's dead simple for Chris to lean the final few inches in and kiss him.

Chris means for it to be only a start, a reinforcement of the 'yes' he's planning on saying as soon as he can, but Ash turns into him, pressing close, his mouth opening against Chris', and Chris loses the battle to stay in any kind of control of the desire that's been in the back of his mind for more than a year. 

Other than in his dreams, he hasn't actually let himself think past the want, which turns out to be all for the best, really, because nothing he would have come up with would have matched the reality of Ash matching him kiss for kiss, his hands fisting in Chris' hair even as he lets Chris manhandle him back against the stone wall of the courtyard. Chris' imagination would have given it a good go, but it wouldn't have come close to how every quiet gasp and pant out of Ash's mouth twists low and hot in Chris' gut, how fucking much he likes making Ash shudder against him.

He manages to rein everything in before it goes much past that--mostly because he wants so much more and there's no real way to make that happen in a public garden. Ash lets him ease back, his hand stroking one last time through Chris' hair before they're apart and breathing hard.

"About that drink," Chris says, and his voice could be steadier, but so could the rest of him. Captain Pike never shows a less-than-rock-solid face to the world, but… He keeps circling back to just being Chris; this would be as good a time as any for it. 

"Still there," Ash answers. He rolls off the wall with a smooth flex of abs and shoulders (which Chris damn well appreciates and now doesn't have to smack himself down over) and falls into step with Chris. They manage to get back through the garden and lobby and into the lift; there's a second when Chris thinks they're going to jump each other before they get to the right floor, but, as noted previously, it's a small inn and the doors are opening before the idea can take hold. 

"You really want that drink?" Ash asks as he gets the door to his room open.

"At some point," Chris answers. "It'd be a shame to waste actual Tennessee whiskey." Ash shakes his head. "Also," Chris says as the door closes behind them. "Yes."

"Was that supposed to make sense?" Ash looks over his shoulder as he's setting the locks. 

"Nice," Chris snorts. "You want everything; I'm saying yes."

Ash turns around slowly. "Don't take this the wrong way, but how's that going to work?"

"You're the head of Starfleet's intelligence branch; I run a starship. I'm fairly certain we can figure it out." Ash doesn't say anything, and Chris gets serious, fast. "I didn't mean to be quite so flip, but what I said stands. I _am_ sure we can figure it out."

"What are you going to say when someone from the Admiralty takes you aside and suggests that your choice of bed partner is, ah, limiting your potential?" Ash asks in a deceptively mild voice that somehow takes on the slimy undertones of the kind of toady that will, Chris knows, inevitably say something very close to those words to him. "Or," and his voice coarsens to a fake geniality that's a thin veneer over ugly xenophobia, "how they never knew you had what it takes to ride herd on a Klingon. Or maybe it's you that's being ridden…?"

"Oh," Chris answers calmly, "the first one will probably get one of those lectures I've been told are smug and self-righteous." He smiles, the slow, careful smile he saves for going after people who think they've tangled with someone they can spook. He's been assured that it's … disquieting. (Phil Boyce calls it his oh-goody-I-get-to-shoot-vermin smile; Una usually just rolls her eyes at him.) "Of course, that assessment's usually come from the one holding the opinion I'm not agreeing with, so take that with a grain or two of salt. But, you know the kind of speech I mean." Ash shakes his head, but Chris can see the smile lurking in his eyes. "As for the second, well, I imagine I'd probably ask if they might like to clarify things. Hands on."

Ash mutters something in Klingon, and then adds, "Of course you would." He eyes Chris with something that looks a lot like exasperation. "And you'd destroy your career in the process."

Chris considers it for a moment, and then shrugs. "Probably not, but if my choice of partners, in and out of bed, is grounds for career suicide, then we've already lost Starfleet and I have a couple hundred acres in Mojave waiting for me to have the time to deal with them."

"You can't just--"

"I definitely can," Chris assures him. "I always have. It's the thing that keeps me on the path I should be following." He thinks he gets through to Ash with that, and he can't really object to someone worrying about him even if he doesn't really agree with the potential for disaster. It's been a while since there's been anyone thinking about him like that. 

"You're not wrong, though," Chris says. "I can guarantee someone, somewhere is going to object like hell to the two of us being together. They're going to insinuate that I'm spying for you, or you're feeding me inside intel to advance my career." He holds up a hand to forestall the interruption he can see in Ash's eyes. "They're going to offer me the flagship to bring you down; and they'll want you to sell your soul to derail me getting it on my own."

"Which leaves us right back where we were before all of … this," Ash points out.

"It is what it is," Chris counters. "It's always been that way. I'd have thought the war would have burned more of it out, but I don't hold out much hope. The question is whether or not you trust me to not fall for it."

"I'm, uh, pretty sure that should be the other way around," Ash says. "You, trusting me--"

"We've been through that," Chris interjects. "I took my time catching the memo, but I thought I'd gotten there by the end. I didn't imagine you arriving with the Klingon fleet after you'd asked me to trust you, did I?"

"There are things I'm not going to be able to tell you," Ash warns. "You know that."

"I do." Chris holds Ash's eyes with his own. "You know the same goes for me."

Ash nods, and then a silence stretches out between them, broken only when Ash sighs, "This--is not how I was expecting this to go."

"That makes two of us," Chris answers. "But," he ventures a smile, hopefully one of his more charming ones, "it is going, yeah?"

Chris finds himself holding his breath until Ash finally relaxes and says, "Yes."

"Come here, then," Chris says, half-sitting on the work table set against the wall, watching as Ash crosses over to him with an easy, loose stride, not stopping even when Chris reaches out to fit a hand to the curve of his jaw. "Tell me," he says, suddenly finding it hard to speak above a whisper. "Tell me if you need to stop, or take a break, or just need something different. I do not want to screw this up."

"Same," Ash breathes as he takes the last step to stand between Chris' legs. He brings one hand up to cover Chris' hand with his own, stroking his thumb over Chris' knuckles in a slow, careful caress. 

Chris draws him down and into a kiss, equally as slow and careful. Ash kisses him back, and Chris luxuriates in the thought that there's no hurry, no rush. No one is going to call him or page him to the bridge; there's nothing waiting for him to read and sign off on; and while he might be behind on a half-dozen things (which he always seems to be), the truth is, he's on leave, with Ash, and it can all wait.

Ash brings his other hand up to cup the back of Chris' head and things grow less careful and slow. It's _good_, so good--Chris can't remember the last time he's indulged himself like this, but he finally has to tears his mouth away to gasp in air. He's halfway to apologizing for stopping, but Ash immediately takes the opportunity to nudge Chris' jaw back and drag his teeth down Chris' throat and the words die unspoken. 

Chris somehow manages to communicate how much he wants Ash to do it again--and _again_\--and things inside Chris twist a little more tightly. It takes more than a little focus, but he gets his hands move, drags them away from Ash's face to work at the fastenings of his shirt, his pants, yanking everything open and away so that he can push forward and slide both palms over warm, smooth skin.

Ash half-jumps at the first brush of Chris' hands, his breath rushing in with a hiss as he surges forward, arching into Chris as though he can't get enough of his touch. Chris is happy to oblige, stripping Ash completely out of his shirt even as Ash is clawing at him, pulling at his clothes, half-frantic suddenly. Somehow--Chris misses who starts it, but he hardly thinks it matters--they're kissing again, more wildly now, dragging air into their lungs bare snatches, just enough to keep from passing out, greedy and grasping and so fucking right Chris almost can't wrap his brain around it. 

He pushes off from the table, stumbling once but managing to stay on his feet and steer Ash backward to the bed, pushing him down to sit on it as Chris sinks to his knees. Ash is shaking and panting, watching Chris with eyes that are heavy-lidded and dark with arousal.

"Let me," Chris half-growls, struggling to keep his own surprise at being here from overwhelming everything, tugging at the waistband of Ash's pants, wanting them _down_, out of his way. He swallows hard and forces a veneer of calm over himself, searching for enough of a center to ask, rather than demand. "Ash," he rasps, gentling his hands, curling his fingers into his palms to keep from clawing at him. "Please."

"You think," Ash gasps, falling back onto the bed, shifting his hips to help Chris strip him of his pants, "you think I'm going to _object_?" His boots are still in the way, but Chris can work with what he's got, ducking and twisting until he's in close, right where he wants to be. Ash shudders as Chris bites his way up the inside of his thigh. "I'm just, just, ah, fuck, just a couple beats behind on this being reality."

Chris hums in agreement and then flicks his tongue over the very tip of Ash's cock, letting the strangled hiss Ash responds with sink deep, deep into him. "Stop me whenever," he says, lifting his head to take in the sight of Ash sprawled out on the bed, one long, lithe line of warm brown skin stretched over solid muscles, an arm thrown up over his eyes. "Behind or not."

"Like I said," Ash answers, arching his hips in a clear demand for more, one which Chris is going to answer, but in his own time, "I'm not objecting."

"Just making it clear that you can." Chris doesn't usually spend quite so much time setting up exit strategies, but everything he knows of Ash's background says it's not overkill. Ash drops his arm and leans up on one elbow to look back at Chris and nod. Chris gives himself a little credit for working that all out, but then has to take most of it back when he can't help but be pleased that it's also gotten Ash to watch as Chris relaxes his throat and takes Ash deep in a single, slow swallow.

Ash grits out words in a language Chris isn't familiar with; they're clearly curses, and, especially when taken with how his hips snap up off the mattress, equally as clearly asking for more, not to stop. Chris is happy to oblige.

Just not nearly as quickly as Ash would like.

It's been longer than Chris would like to admit since he's cared this much about making things as good as possible for his partner. Sex since becoming a captain has either been a one-off with someone in a similar situation, or the occasional run-in with the one or two fuck-buddies he still keeps in touch with from Academy days. During the war, he’d been off with the _Enterprise_ and there was no way in seven hells he was messing with his own people. Since then, well, he's coming to realize exactly how much he's allowed the time crystal and all its revelations to do a number on him. Here, now, he can take his time, find the things Ash likes best, the places that make him writhe and not quite whine when Chris licks over them, see how far Ash will let him push things.

The answer to that strikes Chris a long time later, after he's stopped and started and stopped again, Ash shaking under him, big hands fisted in the sheets to keep from grabbing at Chris, and it's finally apparent to Chris' sex-drunk brain that he's going to let Chris keep going, that he's letting go and just taking what Chris gives him.

Up to that point, Chris will admit that he's been indulging himself a fair amount, tasting and teasing any bit of skin that's caught his attention--there's a spot over the point of Ash's hip that's already darkening from how many times Chris has returned to bite a hard, sucking kiss to it--but now, the sight of Ash with his mouth bitten raw and the hair at his temples darkened with sweat, his cock hard and long and flushed, focuses Chris back on his self-appointed mission to see how thoroughly he can take him apart. His own cock is heavy and hard without him ever having touched it, but it's easy enough to ignore it in favor of everything spread out in front of him.

The time he's spent playing hasn’t been a waste, though. Now he knows all the right places for his hands and mouth, knows that if he takes Ash's cock into his mouth and works his tongue just under the crown, Ash will jolt as if Chris has shocked him; knows that once he gets a thumb pressed to the smooth skin behind his balls, Ash will grind down on him helplessly. He knows that Ash can take two of his fingers easily, that he'll spread his legs and beg wordlessly for more once Chris finds his prostate. Chris makes his way through everything he knows, and more, working three fingers up into Ash as he mouths at his cock one last time, sucking hard at the tip before twisting his fingers ruthlessly and opening his throat to take all of his cock, as deeply as he can.

Ash comes with a harsh cry that he silences with his own fist, his body arced and taut, pushing desperately for more. Chris rides it out, not letting Ash's cock slip out of his mouth until the panting breaths shift to something closer to sobs and the shudders racing through the muscles pressed against him slow.

Chris takes his time crawling up over Ash, dragging his mouth in an open-mouthed kiss over the long, lean torso below him. "Too goddamned gorgeous, all spread out for me like this." He licks at Ash's nipples, worrying at them with his teeth until they're tight and hard and Ash is moving restlessly. (If he hadn't been talking about the head of Section 31, Chris would have said he'd been squirming, but he doesn't think that applies in the current instance.) "Loved watching you fall apart for me," he breathes.

"Knew you'd be all about the control," Ash mumbles. 

"Only to make sure everyone has a good time," Chris answers, biting not quite as lightly as he'd intended at the smooth curve of collarbone at the base of Ash's neck. "And for the record, I'm not _all_ about control. At least not all about having it."

"About that," Ash says, dragging one hand up to comb through Chris' hair, laughing in a soft huff as Chris can't help pushing into the touch. "Yeah, that--we're not quite done with the good times yet, are we?"

He leans up in a slow, unhurried arch and catches Chris' mouth with his own, kissing him with a lazy, contented ease that settles into Chris so smoothly that he knows right away he won't ever get enough of it. 

"Tell me what you want," Ash says. His beard is soft as he kisses his way along Chris' jaw.

"You." Chris tries for the flip answer, but it dissolves into a groan as Ash nips his earlobe.

"Christopher," Ash sighs in that tone he used to use on the bridge when he disagreed with one of Chris' decisions. Chris knows it well, but decides Ash probably isn't as irritated as his voice makes him out to be, not with how he's stripping off the rest of Chris' clothes and somehow getting his own boots and pants off, all without any significant interruption to the way he's mapping Chris' throat with his mouth. Regardless, Chris would have traded a fair amount of irritation for hearing Ash say his name. "Specifics, please."

"I don't care," Chris says, the words rushing out of him. Ash has settled his hand in Chris' hair, holding him firmly with his head tilted enough to bare his throat for Ash's mouth and every scrape of his teeth is going straight to Chris' cock. It's _incredibly_ distracting. "I'm--I'm not going to last long--just, god, give me your hands or your mouth, I--it doesn't matter, whatever you want."

Ash hums an agreement against Chris' throat, but neither one of them can make themselves move for long enough that Chris' arms are halfway to giving out on him before Ash eases him down to lie on his side. Ash rolls to face him, his hand still stroking through Chris' hair and his mouth right there for Chris to kiss and kiss and kiss.

"Let's do it like this, then," Ash finally says, untangling his fingers from Chris' hair so that he can draw Chris' leg up over his own. "No rush, whatever you want." He's petting the inside Chris' thigh, long, slow strokes that arrow up toward his cock, each one drawing that much closer; not so much a tease as a promise, one that Ash keeps with a final, trailing touch that whispers up to the very tip of his cock. Chris moans helplessly at the light touch. "See how long we can make it last."

Chris hums in agreement and breathes in a long, cleansing breath. Ash's fingers retrace his final path--thigh to balls to cock--and Chris breathes out just as slowly.

"The best thing here," Ash says, wrapping his hand around Chris' cock and stroking leisurely, "is that I can see everything, all of you." _Yes_, Chris wants to say, but Ash is rubbing his thumb not quite gently across the very tip of his cock and Chris can barely breathe. "More?" Ash asks, correctly interpreting Chris pushing into his hand as an agreement and starting to use the edge of his nails. 

Chris really isn't going to last long, not with how perfectly Ash is playing him, every long, slow stroke ending with a nasty flick of his thumb across the top of Chris' cock, the slightest edge of pain slicing through the pleasure, but then everything stops and Ash is kissing him again, his hand wrapped tight at the base of Chris' cock, no chance for Chris to finish things off on his own. 

"Tease," Chris manages to gasp in the split second between when the kiss ends and when Ash lets go of his cock and cups his balls, rolling them with a practiced hand. Chris gets another breath in before Ash is done there and giving Chris the long, tight strokes from base to tip, every one perfect, and none of them fast enough. "Now who's the control freak?" he grits out.

"Call me whatever you want," Ash answers. "I'm not ready for this to be over." Chris would agree, but Ash has gone back to working the oversensitized head of his cock and Chris can only hang on for the ride. Ash knows, though; every time Chris can force his eyes open, Ash is watching him with a deep, intent focus. He's true to his word, too; edging Chris twice more with devastatingly precise care, leaving him a shaking, sweaty mess, barely able to catch his breath in the downtimes.

Ash kisses him for what feels like forever, his mouth lush and hot against Chris', open and wanting and all for Chris. He starts stroking Chris again, his hands moving in counterpoint to the slow rhythm that his tongue is pressing into Chris' mouth, and Chris goes light-headed from it all. 

Some deep-seated preservation instinct finally makes him pull away so he can gasp in air, but Ash is still jerking him off, so nothing much else settles down, even before Ash stops with the long strokes and returns to playing with the tip of Chris' cock.

"Ash," Chris groans, his head lolling back. He's not sure how much more of this he can take, but he can't quite bring himself to call it just yet. 

"Christopher," Ash answers, and Chris can feel his smile as he bites a line of kisses up under Chris' jaw. Chris automatically wants to push back against that attitude, but he still gets a jolt from hearing Ash say his name, so he's apparently letting it slide for now. "Look at me, _aashiq_. Let me see you."

It takes a ridiculous amount of time, but Chris gets his head back straight, and Ash smiles for real and lets his thumb circle the head of Chris' cock twice, then again. Chris somehow keeps his eyes open and fixed on Ash's own, dark and beautiful, as he presses the edge of his thumbnail into Chris' slit and Chris only barely manages to set his jaw against the howl that wants to tear out of his throat.

"Again?"

Chris manages to jerk his head in a nod; Ash doesn't need any more than that. He presses down sharply again, working his nail in deeper, again and again, until Chris can't hold back anything, not the noises spilling out of his mouth or the way he's clawing at Ash's biceps or the climax that screams through him, one wave after another after another.

Ash keeps his free arm wrapped around Chris through all of it, holding onto him and murmuring quiet words, so softly Chris can't make sense of them. It doesn't matter; their meaning is clear, and Chris--who is always on alert, always aware, always the captain--lets himself drift on the warmth they bring with them. Just for a minute or two. 

Ash is still right there when Chris opens his eyes. He's not smiling, but he looks as happy as Chris has ever seen him, and he doesn't object when Chris leans in for another kiss. This one is lazy and easygoing and turns out to be the first in a long string.

"This place you picked," Ash says in between the fourth and fifth kiss, or possibly the fourteenth and fifteenth, Chris isn't actually counting, "it has water-based showers in the freshers."

"Explains at least some of the ridiculous price," Chris answers, getting a hand up to comb through Ash's hair. He approves of the extra length, not that Ash is going to listen to him on the topic.

"True," Ash says. "Not the most important point, though." He half-growls/half-purrs at Chris tugging on his hair in response. Chris mentally files the reaction away for further exploration at a time when he's not already fucked out. 

"Not sure I'm following you," Chris says, unable to resist playing some.

Ash leans up on one elbow. "There is an actual shower that uses water less than 10 meters away."

"So there is." Chris arches an eyebrow in his best I'm-waiting-Lieutenant expression. Or, at least the best he can summon given the naked and post-coital circumstances. "I thought we'd already established that."

Ash laughs, which Chris already knew he liked, but making it happen is immensely better. "Christopher. Come shower with me."

"I thought you'd never ask," Chris deadpans, which gives him the added bonus of Ash snorting and rolling off the bed first, so that Chris has an excellent view on the way. He'd feel a little sorry for what's basically unrepentant ogling, except that Ash is equally unrepentantly indulging in his own view as Chris finally makes it to the 'fresher.

The shower is, as advertised, water-based and unrestricted. And big enough to share, if they stay close. Which is, Chris reflects, not a problem. They do their best to find the outer time/water limit, but ultimately agree to call a reprieve. 

As they step out of the shower cabinet, Chris starts to ask if Ash wants his room back for the night. He only gets three words in before Ash interrupts with a flat, "No." He rakes his hair back off his face and wraps one of the towels around his waist. Chris' hands itch to do both. "At least, I think I'm good sharing space. The dreams have mostly leveled out, but I'm okay if that's not something you want to take on."

"I'm… about in the same place," Chris answers. He reaches for a towel of his own. "I occasionally even get a whole unbroken five or six hours. Occasionally. So, I understand if that's not something _you_ want to layer on top of your own situation."

"Well," Ash says thoughtfully. "Someone to talk to when it all goes down without having to get dressed. That'll be new and different."

"There is that," Chris agrees. The beds hadn't been advertised as being oversized, but to anyone having spent time on starships, they were enormous. Chris is suddenly exhausted from the day--the travel, the emotional minefield they've traversed, the excellent physical release. He claims a pillow and a corner of the blanket and manages to get himself settled close enough that he can lay a hand flat on Ash's back before sleep starts to pull him under.

"Good night, _aashiq_," Ash says softly, and Chris slurs, "You called me that before…?"

"Lover," Ash answers, though his back has gone tense under Chris' hand. "I didn't mean for you to hear--"

"G'night, sweetheart," Chris says, rubbing his thumb along Ash's spine as he falls asleep.

* * *

No matter how tired he is, Chris doesn't sleep easily enough with anyone else in his bed that Ash rolling carefully out from under the sheets isn't enough to bring him awake. A glance at the chrono tells Chris the base's simulated dawn is still a few hours away, but there's enough light from the street and garden that Chris can see Ash silhouetted in front of the window. 

It's been a long time since Chris has been in this kind of a situation. The people he's shared his bed with for longer than he cares to remember haven't prompted any kind of deeper emotional response, and those he's cared for and supported haven't gotten near his bed. It briefly crosses his mind that he can just be still and let the moment pass, but he's already rolling himself up onto one elbow before the thought really has time to form. Ash stays where he is but turns to look over his shoulder as Chris hauls himself up.

"Everything good?"

"You weren't supposed to say yes," Ash says into the dark and quiet. Chris can't see his face, but his voice is rueful, and Chris flounders a bit. 

"You weren't supposed to ask me anything I could say 'yes' to," Chris answers, a little stung. It's not so much the hit to his ego, but more the sudden suggestion of losing this thing he wants, even though he hadn’t known was possible a few hours earlier. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, that's not what I want at all." Ash turns fully around, his face still in the darkness, but Chris can at least read a bit more of his body language with the faint light behind him. It's still and contained, almost as though Ash is waiting for a hit or an attack.

"Then… I'm at a loss." Chris would like to call Ash's words a win, but Ash is still across the room and Chris has no idea what's going on in his head.

"This was supposed to be me getting turned down, so I could move on." Ash leans back so that he's propped against the window frame, and Chris guesses they're doing this in the dark. It's not what the Empath teams would recommend, but sometimes you work with what you've got, not what you're supposed to have, so Chris stays still and unthreatening. "Michael's gone and that's – what it is. I finally got to the point that I wasn't fighting it, but then..." He pushes both hands through his hair and Chris curls his own into fists. He knows what that feels like now, and he'd very much like to do it for real again. "I'd think about what I wanted and you were there every time, no matter how many times I reminded myself that you barely tolerated me, that maybe trusting me in the middle of a battle didn't counteract all the rest of it."

"I—" Chris sighed, shaking his head, "think we've proven that for a lie."

"I'm not arguing," Ash said, rolling off the window with a smooth flex of muscles. He crosses the room with slowly enough that Chris can ease back on the bed, a wordless invitation for him to sit, one that Ash accepts. "I just don't know what's next."

Carefully, Chris drops a hand on Ash's thigh. His skin is warm through the thin, loose sleep pants he's pulled on. "Since you first messaged, I’ve spent a fair amount of time reminding myself not to read things into this that weren’t rock-solid. I fully expected to have a semi-cordial, mostly professional discussion and spend the next few months reiterating the 'nothing to see, move along' message to my subconscious."

Ash leans back into Chris, who doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not ready to sag with relief. "I had it all planned out and now…"

"You know as well as I do that no good plan survives first contact with reality." 

"Close enough," Ash says, a faint laugh underlining the the misquote, as though he knows Chris is saying it wrong deliberately but can’t resist the opportunity to tease.

"No enemies here," Chris answers. Ash relaxes enough that Chris can ease him down onto the mattress; Chris doesn't let him get far away at all, just wraps an arm around him and presses his forehead to the back of Ash's head. "New plan: sleep, more non-replicated food, whatever passes for sight-seeing on this 'Base, find my room."

"Not a lot to see," Ash says. "Casinos, entertainment district; that's about it."

"Fine. Skip straight from food to my room." Chris breathes slow and steady. He's happy to feel Ash breathing with him. "Regroup there, approximately this time, adjust the plan as needed."

"You have to go look at plants," Ash reminds him, and Chris sighs. 

"Work that in after food." It's quiet for a bit, and Ash is less tense, but still not nearly relaxed enough to sleep, so Chris adds, "Oh, wait, forgot that bottle of--what did you say your source called it?"

"Tennessee's finest," Ash answers. "Which is a loose enough description to be anything."

"We'll fit it in somewhere. See how it plays out." 

"That's a pretty flimsy plan for a couple of control freaks." Ash shifts away from Chris, who shoves down his disappointment and moves away from him immediately. It feels like an award for interpersonal skills well-done when Ash only waits until Chris is on his back and then fits himself along Chris' side. 

"I don't know anything more than you do. But I am damn sure going to do my best to figure it out."

"Still not objecting," Ash says. He finally sounds like he might be letting go of whatever sent him out of bed in the first place.

"Good." Chris settles himself a little more comfortably. Ash grumbles, but moves with him and ends up half-draped over him. Chris makes himself keep breathing slowly. "Next time, we'll have to find someplace with something to do other than gamble."

"Risa," Ash mumbles. "The beach part."

Chris spares a thought for the binary suns there and warns, "I’ll burn after an hour."

"I'll put lotion on you." Ash is barely forming words. Chris risks putting an arm half-around his shoulders; Ash murmurs unintelligibly, but presses closer, a long, glorious line of skin-to-skin contact that Chris had no idea he wanted as much as he apparently does. "All over you."

"That could work," Chris says, and falls asleep to Ash's steady breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Voyager_ 6.02, _Survival Instinct_. 
> 
> This is where I admit that I read episode synopses for the first season of _Discovery_ and just dove into S2 (thanks to everybody who screamed at me about Pike--you were so so so right, mwhah), so my mental image of Ash Tyler is formed only from S2 and a couple of con panels the cast has done over the summer. (This is less about Voq & more about how Ash was presented pre-reveal.)
> 
> Those of you who know me know I have a *thing* for Pike, in all his different incarnations, and I'm usually not too chuffed to borrow recklessly from all available canon (thanks Marvel), but this is purely _Discovery_'s Pike, with a few supporting details borrowed from TOS. (Because, as has been pointed out, they are really stingy about the backstory and life details for the guy.)
> 
> Also, I know enough about Persian-->Hindi-Urdu to know I barely know anything (and there is no graceful way to ask your South Asian co-workers about terms of endearment in their native languages) so I hope I didn't screw that one term up. I cross-checked it in as many dictionaries as I could dig up, but you know how that goes sometimes.
> 
> I'm [](http://topaz119.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**topaz119**](http://topaz119.dreamwidth.org/) (dreamwidth) // [](http://topaz119.tumblr.com)[](http://topaz119.tumblr.com)**topaz119** (tumblr) if you want to come say hi!
> 
> Or if you like, please feel free to [reblog](https://topaz119.tumblr.com/post/187619440868/fic-survival-is-insufficient-topaz119-star).


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